


everything I was and everything that I've become

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 4x09 The Witches of Bushwick. Serena realizes that she can never change from the person she used to be, as long as the people around her continue to treat her like that person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything I was and everything that I've become

Life on the Upper East Side follows a pattern. Every now and then, there's some big drama. A vicious scheme, an epic misunderstanding, something that could be avoided but never is. It always starts off slowly but eventually blows up in everyone's faces with a force that should, to all extents and purposes, mean nothing will ever be the same again.

Except that it will. When the dust has settled, it's as if nothing ever happened: no scars, no lasting consequences, not even a trace left of whatever or whoever it was that temporarily dared to disrupt the status quo. 

Nothing ever changes. It's a blessing and a curse at the same time.

* * *

Everyone tells her they're sorry, and she knows they mean it. It's in the way her mother hugs her, in every tentative smile Blair offers when she brings her breakfast, in the sadness she finds in Nate's gaze, in Dan's hopeful smile.

She's sorry, too. She wants nothing more than to tell them that it's fine, that they couldn't have known, that it was all part of Juliet's crazy but scarily effective revenge plan. But it's _not_ fine. Juliet may have been the one with the plan, but it would never have worked if Serena's friends, her family, the people who were supposed to know her, hadn't been all too ready to expect the worst of her. And they can't undo that, no matter how honest their apologies are. They can't even change the fact that it would probably happen again because this is how they see her. 

People don't change, presumably – and maybe that's true. Maybe people cannot ever truly change because even if they try, the people in their lives will forever root them to who they used to be.

But Serena _wants_ to change, and she knows that there is only one way to do it, only one way to achieve that sort of freedom. 

She thinks about leaving quietly, like a thief in the night. Just a note on her pillow: _I'm sorry, I have to go. Don't try to find me._ But that's what the old Serena would do, and she cannot allow herself to be that girl anymore. 

She leaves on a Saturday in January, following lengthy discussions with her family and her friends. Blair cried and threw stuff at her, then cried again in Serena's arms. Nate was quiet and solemn, as if he knew that she'd already made up her mind. Dan asked her to stay and told her he loved her. It took all her will power not to say it back. She might even have meant it, but it wouldn't have changed anything. She cannot remember much about her talk with Lily, except that she cried a lot and her mother looked sad and disappointed but never asked her to reconsider.

She arrives in Paris with nothing but two suitcases and the stinging anxiety of stepping into the unknown. It's raining when she arrives, and the city looks glum and depressing and unwelcoming, a world away from the sunny place of leisure and luxury and flirtation she and Blair visited last summer. 

'I can do this,' she tells herself, but there's a silent _Can I?_ echoing at the back of her mind. She doesn't know where to start, and the language is giving her headaches, and she misses her friends. 

For the first time in her life, she's lonely.

* * *

She's working as an assistant (which is a fancy way of saying 'the girl who fetches coffee for the editors and does everything she can to keep the photographers and the models happy') at a small lifestyle magazine when, during a shooting of avant garde winter couture, Pierre the photographer fixes her with a stare that makes her uncomfortable. 

"That silver ensemble over there," he starts, and she thinks that he wants it brought to him so she turns to get it, but then he says, "Try it on. I want to see it on you." 

She stops short. "Why?" 

"It's perfect for you. You should be in this spread." He doesn't make it sound like a gracious offer she should be grateful for, but like a fixed thing, as if it's already decided.

It takes all her courage to say, "I'd rather not."

Pierre frowns. "Why not? You've seen those girls. Should be easy enough for you to do what they do."

"It's not that, but—" Serena bites her lip. "This is not who I am." _Anymore_ , she doesn't say.

Pierre's frown deepens, then he shrugs. "Suit yourself." 

He turns away, effectively dismissing her. But when she finishes work that evening, Pierre is waiting for her outside the building. He's standing propped up against the brick wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching her with amused interest.

"So, Serena van der Woodsen, New York heiress and former It girl, tell me why you prefer fetching people coffee to having your picture printed in a fashion magazine."

She's annoyed at the way he addressed her, annoyed that he knows that much about her (even if it's not much at all – just what you can find by taking one fleeting look at a dated American gossip magazine) in the first place. 

"I want to find out who I can be when I'm not Serena van der Woodsen. Other than an heiress and an It girl and a woman who gets all she has on grounds of her name and will eventually end up with four ex-husbands and an annual charity ball. I just want to be Serena from New York who makes a life for herself. Even if that means fetching coffee for big-headed photographers and helping bored models get into their dresses. I know that sounds stupid, but you don't know me, so please stop acting as if you do." 

The snappish tone of her voice makes her wince, but she hates how he puts her on the defensive. Still, he didn't deserve this. 

"Sorry," she adds, still sounding a little sullen.

Pierre doesn't seem particularly upset, though. If anything, he looks amused, intrigued even. And she thinks she sees something like respect in his gaze, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

"Goodnight, then," she tells him when he doesn't say anything, but he calls her back as she turns to go.

"How about dinner, then, Serena from New York?"

It makes her smile and she really wants to say yes, but wouldn't that be something the old Serena did? Sometimes, it's hard to tell them apart, to decide who it is she is and who she wants to be and who she should be. Sometimes she's not sure if those three are the same people.

As if he can read her thoughts, Pierre adds, "I promise I won't do you any favours. No special treatment. You'll still be the girl fetching coffee for the big-headed photographer tomorrow. So what do you say?"

Serena laughs. "Alright. Just dinner."

* * *

She keeps fetching coffee for a couple more months before, one morning on the set, she hands a model a scarf that the stylist hadn't originally asked for. It's nothing Serena does on purpose or with any sort of ulterior motive; she just thinks the scarf would go well with the outfit. She gets yelled at and berated and goes home in tears, but when she comes in to work the next morning, the stylist calls her into her office and asks if Serena wants to be her assistant because she obviously has a keen eye for details and knows plenty about fashion.

It's scarily easy, and Serena almost asks, 'Is this because who I am?' but that's ridiculous. It's because she's made a stupid mistake and it miraculously paid off for once.

After that, things are busier than ever. She works crazy overtime and barely gets a weekend off. Pierre half-jokingly tells her that he thinks he liked it better when she was still the coffee girl, and he gets a pillow thrown at his head for it.

Serena is grateful that he kept his word about not giving her any special treatment, despite the fact that dinner turned into breakfast, and breakfast somehow, over the course of weeks and months, turned into living together. 

"For the first time, I feel like a proper grown-up person," she tells him. A grown-up job, a grown-up relationship, a grown-up life. It's scary and exhilarating all at once, but— "It still makes me feel a little like I'm faking it. You know, like being a kid in the sand box and play-acting being an adult."

Pierre's arms encircle her. "I think you're too hard on yourself. You have all those ideas of who you shouldn't be that sometimes you seem to forget to leave yourself any room for who you are."

She thinks about that for a moment and frowns. "I can't decide if that was very deep or completely nonsensical," she finally says.

Pierre laughs. "I'm not sure either."

* * *

She doesn't completely cut off contact with her friends at home. She couldn't bear to do that, no matter how much she longed to leave her old life behind. She picks up the phone whenever one of them calls. She coaches Blair through five Chuck-related crises, and eventually makes a promise to be around for the wedding (even though she secretly wonders if she'll also have to be around for the divorce). Nate tells her when his father dies in prison, sounding grave and quieter than usual, and she stays up until 1am swapping old childhood stories with him. Dan frantically calls her in the midst of a sexual crisis when a night of getting drunk with Nate apparently led to a very awkward morning after. They work it out, eventually, and Serena can perfectly envision Blair rolling her eyes when she tells her that no one was really surprised. 

They all tell her about the latest schemes and take-downs on the Upper East Side where nothing ever really changes. Serena doesn't miss it.

She calls to update them with the latest news from her life in Paris, the bits that they can't find on her Facebook page. She never asks for advice. She never asks, period, not about herself. She just tells them how it is. _This is me now, and you either like it or not._

She makes new friends. People who know her as the coffee girl, the assistant stylist, the blonde American with the horrible accent, Pierre's pretty girlfriend, the woman who always orders butterflied lamb and crème brûlée and who drinks her coffee with milk and one lump of sugar. People who don't associate the name Serena van der Woodsen with partying, seduction and havoc. 

Step by step, she stops being afraid of turning back – or being turned back – into the person she used to be. She isn't sure who she is yet, and much less sure who she will be in the future, where this life is going to lead her or even where she wants it to lead her. But people have stopped looking at her and seeing someone they've already made up their mind about without knowing her, and that's enough for now.

One day, on the streets, an American tourist calls out her name. It's a woman in her twenties, Serena's age, who may or may not remember her face from Gossip Girl or from a glossy magazine. 

"Aren't you Serena van der Woodsen?" the girl squeals excitedly.

Pierre, who's walking beside Serena, gives her arm a squeeze that could be reassurance or warning or maybe both. She knows what he wants to tell her. _She only recognized your face; don't bite her head off for it._ There's no need for him to worry, though. 

Serena offers the girl a smile. "Yeah, I am. Hi. Nice to meet you."

* * *

End.


End file.
